"Well," said Dunn gloomily, "I reckon perhaps you'd as lieve left me in
hell, for all the love you bear me. And may be you've grudge enough agin
me still to wish I'd found her and him together."

"You think so?" she said, turning her head away.

"There, d--n it! I didn't mean to make you cry. May be you wouldn't,
then. Only tell that fellow to take you out of this, and not run away
the next time he sees a man coming."

"He didn't run," said Teresa, with flashing eyes. "I--I--I sent him
away," she stammered. Then, suddenly turning with fury upon him, she
broke out, "Run! Run from you! Ha, ha! You said just now I'd a grudge
against you. Well, listen, Jim Dunn. I'd only to bring you in range of
that young man's rifle, and you'd have dropped in your tracks like--"

"Like that bar, the other night," said Dunn, with a short laugh. "So
THAT was your little game?" He checked his laugh suddenly--a cloud
passed over his face. "Look here, Teresa," he said, with an assumption
of carelessness that was as transparent as it was utterly incompatible
with his frank, open selfishness. "What became of that bar? The
skin--eh? That was worth something?"

"Yes," said Teresa quietly. "Low exchanged it and got a ring for me from
that trader Isaacs. It was worth more, you bet. And the ring didn't fit
either--"

"Yes," interrupted Dunn, with an almost childish eagerness.

"And I made him take it back, and get the value in money. I hear that